A halcyon summer of sport helps us define our Englishness

Winning the World Cup made Saturday July 30 1966 the greatest day in English sport. On that occasion it was the Union flag that waved around Wembley Stadium — at the time, many saw English and British nationality as interchangeable, to the chagrin of the Scots or Welsh. The changing of the flags came 30 years later: by the time England hosted the Euro 96 football tournament, the cross of St George was fluttering in the Wembley breeze instead.

That summer, the culture of English football changed. The anthem “Three Lions” and its infectious chorus of “Football’s coming home!” invited the world back to the international game’s birthplace, with lyrics and delivery that disavowed any jingoistic sense of entitlement to victory. Instead, the song was — and remains — a hymn to the fan culture that explains why sport matters: the shared memories of near misses that never quite dash the hope that this time might be different.

That has been the arc of this summer too. England fans had expectations for 2018’s World Cup that seemed particularly muted. Few wanted to burden an unusually young squad with unrealistic pressure. After a couple of decent wins, the fall of favourites such as Germany, and the exorcism of old ghosts through winning a dreaded penalty shootout, it is difficult not to daydream of victory. So we put out more flags of St George on our cars and houses.

The public experiences a happy contrast with the tedious divisiveness of Brexit politics

In the two decades since Euro 96, the idea of Englishness grew too — people in England were three times as likely to give English as their national identity than British in the 2011 census. Yet the political debate has remained a low hum in the background.

In a powerful speech last week, John Denham, a former Labour cabinet minister, noted the consequences of this neglect. Englishness was a key driver of the Brexit vote in 2016, he pointed out, yet it has remained largely unacknowledged by either side. The Remain campaign was called Britain Stronger in Europe — but only in England. The Scots had their own campaign, Scotland Stronger in Europe, alongside Welsh and Northern Irish variants.

Pro-Brexit politicians used the British icons too — Ukip is a British brand — yet their pitch appealed much more to those for whom English identity, rather than British, was strongest. This has fed a liberal allergy towards the idea of England as a nation, but that is precisely the mistake that has got us here.

England can learn from Scotland, which in the late 1970s was far too dependent on capricious sporting success for its sense of identity: the blow to Scotland’s self-esteem of a humiliating 1978 World Cup was a factor in the failure to gain approval in the 1979 referendum proposing a devolved Scottish parliament (it took until 1997 to approve the move). Yet Scotland’s politicians, both unionist and nationalist, have successfully shaped a modern civic Scottishness, reflected in its public life.

These halcyon sporting summers change how we think about our nation. In an age when technology fragments audiences, it is rare for so many to focus on the same thing at once. The public experiences a happy contrast with the tedious divisiveness of Brexit politics: the 24m who watched England defeat Colombia were drawn from England’s Leave and Remain voters.

We have realised there is an England that we can all share — a team that naturally reflects the everyday diversity of young, urban, 20-something England, and that is celebrated with pride from small towns and shire counties to the big cities. But football alone can hardly be left to reshape our national identity; we need to begin the work of building institutions that reflect an inclusive England. If we miss this opportunity, as the recent past shows, the sense of Englishness can fester.

The writer is director of British Future, a think-tank